Of musical chairs and russian roulette
by gunner brat
Summary: In the game of Musical Chairs and Russian Roulette- both would die- either way.However, it was the next shot, that truly went for the kill.


Disclaimer:I do not own Bokurano nor am making money off of this.

Stage props

It was an infinite stage that stretched on forever. Every actor had the same prop but for every actor it was different. The role was the same but held many different titles. The only thing needed was fifteen things people sat on. From cradles to cushions to expensive leather seats that spun. It could even be a pilot seat in a mass of miscellaneous chairs that the cockpit saw and who entertained the limitless amounts of actors it saw fight to their death. Every stage prop unique to every person but not a single person unique.

By any other name

The actors who were every shade, past, and personality had many titles. There were those they called themselves, others called them, and what in their own mind was. Pilot, pawn, murderer, hero, monster, villain, traitor, cursed, and contracted with every other type of known title to man. Every pilot had to accept their lot and whichever name given. Hero, given to them was often lost in their own minds, and at first they might, without knowing the cost, call them that at first. Like ace pilots of the air force in war, to be a hero was to be a villain in another place. The most basic and important one, was simply, human.

Musical chairs

It was never as simple as musical chairs. It was a game and being picked in the cockpit was not fun. The style of directors changed machine by machine, and never stayed the same. Some simple said a name and watched the fireworks after. Most had a sense of drama and it was only limited by the imagination. One would let the players pick, others make it a game of musical chairs as the pilots scrambled not to be the one who picked the wrong number, and some gave no choice. The chairs would be sparkling, glowing, spinning, darkening then it would fade and faster then the eye could see it settled and the one that was the odd one out was it. It was only limited by the imagination and some had a very big imagination with a matching sadistic streak.

Breaking point

Every first pilot had a breaking point. Whether resigned, explosive, passionate, or calm each hit it without fail. Death was inevitable. It was a gift not to know when you were going to die. People might say they would change if they knew, how and when, but death would come regardless if you change it. To sit it that chair and know absolutely you are going to die. If you lose everyone you know will die- and if you win if there's others around you that will have to die for the same cause. It might be hopeless, or in vain, but whether you hit your breaking point in that chair or out- there is no way out. Both paths lead to death and there is no choice about going one way or another. You were moving to one path of victory- or loss- whether you wanted to or not.

Tears

If the walls were conscious of each act of crying then it would probably be indifferent to tears. It might even be numb to when the pilots were staring up at the ceiling of the cockpit. Yanked or crushed as a hand or foot killed every last pilot left. The walls shed no tears, and spoke no words, but in the seemingly vast space, it screamed. The dimensions of a perfect sphere, about eight feet tall and wide, and endless on the inside. The walls didn't speak, and couldn't hear or see, but every now and then tears would fall from pilot, guardian, and its' own walls.

Speechless

The walls if they could speak, were probably more familiar with silence then speech. The pilots yelled, screamed, sobbed, puked, whispered, but most often were silent. Daring not to speak, as if one word, would break the perfect silence that the current situation brought. People shouting, screaming, groaning or blissfully unconscious in the wake of the chaos. All around them noise, destruction, and casualties of every single movement, and missed blow. The silence a tribute to the growing horror around them, and what was to come, when they took center stage.

Russian Roulette

It was a sure bet that the gun was loaded. There was a bullet with your name on it, whether it came from your gun or your opponents. To shoot the opponent in the heart you shot yourself. To miss was to be shot and know that every other pilot in the cockpit and every person you know, was dead. A tie was both guns going off and no one winning the war of the earths. It was a five out of six loaded and aimed at your head and if yours was empty, the other gun wasn't. You had a chance at living in Russian roulette. Only one would die if it went off, but in the game of musical chairs and Russian roulette- both would die- either way. The shot that went off next was your entire world dying.


End file.
